


stay of execution

by toastedbagel



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Gen, bfa au, probably a little bit angsty, we're really going fast and loose with the lore on this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-09-01 05:11:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastedbagel/pseuds/toastedbagel
Summary: Jaina Proudmoore was supposed to die, abandoned at Fate's End to the Drust for decades-old treason. She'd made her peace with it and everything. Things never seem to go to plan for her, though, and a Horde shipping vessel in the right place at the right time changes her trajectory. Is being a prisoner of the warchief a better or worse alternative?





	1. Prologue

Sorting the affairs of Kul Tiras out had happened remarkably quickly, Genn thought. Still, time was of the essence, and it seemed to drag the longer they stayed there without making any headway. The king of Gilneas could not consider Jaina Proudmoore among his friends, but he knew that her value as a weapon rivaled the value of bringing Kul Tiras into the Alliance if they were ever going to win this blasted war.

No one had seen her in three weeks. Not since she’d been sentenced to death by her own people, her own mother. Sure rumors swirled: Jaina had been executed minutes after she’d been escorted out, she still rotted in the blackest cell of Tol Dagor, she was thrown to the wolves in Drustvar or the Tidesages in the valley or many things equally horrid. Anduin still held out hope- not knowing what happened could be better than knowing for certain she was dead, he’d told Genn. Still, they had to proceed delicately, wait until the ink on the many treaties had dried, before they’d dared broach the subject to Lord Admiral Proudmoore. Forgiveness is important, they’d said. She’s the only family you have left. (She’s capable of leveling a city, critical to the war effort, Genn wanted to say).

So, their race against the clock began. Katherine Proudmoore hadn’t the nerve to see to Jaina’s execution herself, and her closest confidante who had, Priscilla Ashvane, was still indisposed in Tol Dagor. They’d already swept the prison for any sign of Jaina, scoured the city and countryside alike, all to no avail. As the days ran together, the search grew more desperate, until they’d stumbled onto a lead: the Lady Ashvane had contracted pirates to get rid of Jaina, but then they’d contracted some rogue tidesages, who were now dead, to take her to Fate’s End. It was an island Kul Tirans knew to be unspeakably horrifying, a place no one ever returned from. It was with grim determination that Genn, Katherine, a tidesage, and a small group of Alliance champions set out into Drustvar. Tirelessly they worked to complete the many trials and rituals needed to cross over to Thros, where Jaina waited, undoubtedly suffering.

It was needlessly complicated and even more needlessly cruel, Genn thought. Kul Tirans were not known for being a kind people, but even in Gilneas, traitors weren’t abandoned to be tortured by spirits for all eternity. Doing that to a family member seemed unthinkable. Then again, Genn considered, turning to look at Katherine, sometimes, we do what we think we must. The ocean was flat and grey today, almost completely silent save for the sound of Brother Pike, the tidesage who’d promised to help them, pushing the boat forward with his single oar. All too quickly, they arrived at the island, ready to head through the gateway.

Pike swallowed and put a hand on Katherine’s shoulder. “I sincerely hope to see you all return. Get her out of there.”

The group murmured their assent. One of the champions, a Night Elf priestess with long green hair raised a hand. “How do we find her, once we’re in there?”

“Like I said, no one’s ever returned from Thros to describe it in detail. What we do know about the realm is that it reflects your worst fears back at you, hypothetically feeding off of your pain for sustenance.” As the tidesage continued, many of the champions absentmindedly squared their shoulders and reached for weapons, collecting themselves. “Look out for visions of some sort, related to Jaina. Follow those and they ought to lead you where you need to be.”

Unfortunately, that plan had dissolved almost as soon as they’d entered Thros. The mist was suffocating. Sounds warped and wove around them unnaturally, and no one could see more than a couple yards ahead of them. The party paused, scanning for any signs of Jaina, but there was nothing but that blasted mist and the sound of their own voices, warped.

Katherine stepped to the front of the group. “To the woods, then. Split up and comb them as best you can. If any of you find anything, call for help. Rendezvous back in an hour.”

“Are you sure splitting up is the best-” a draenei paladin carrying a large hammer interjected.

“If my daughter is here, we need to find her as fast as possible.” Katherine’s voice hardened, eyes flashing. “Nothing else matters.”

At that, the group fanned out, drawing weapons and disappearing into the mist. Genn picked a direction no one had previously chosen and started off, resolute. Hours seemed to pass staggering through the wood. It was almost impossible to see or hear, and what he could sense was altered somehow, like a whisper at the back of his mind, constantly changing. Twisted monsters made of gnarled branches always seemed to flash in the corners of his vision, and soon Genn’s claws were coated in their strange, sappy blood. Still, the silence. Genn hoped to the light that someone else had found Jaina, and increasingly, he hoped someone would be able to find him in the endless forest.

He thought the searching couldn’t be any worse. And then, the visions started. Countless times Genn watched his son die, watched his homeland burn, heard his people call him a tyrant and a traitor and a failure. Worst of all was the laughter that rang in his ears constantly, tauntingly, no matter how many wickerbeasts he struck down. He knew exactly who it belonged to. Sylvanas Windrunner, that blighted banshee who had murdered his son and obliterated his kingdom in a span of less than a month. Not a day went by when he didn’t think about how and when he was going to exact his vengeance for all the crimes she’d committed against him. He whipped his head around fruitlessly, trying to find the source of it, but like everything else in this blasted realm, it twisted in and out of being. More wickerbeasts charged, and though he lashed out, he felt himself getting sloppier. They were taking more of him with them when they died, drawing more blood. He needed to get out of these woods, Jaina or no, before the island claimed him for good.

After what seemed like an eternity, he managed to stumble back onto the beachhead, where most of the group lay in varying states of disarray. Jaina wasn’t among them. The Lord Admiral, who now had a bloody bandage wrapped around her midsection, turned to look at him.

“Genn! We thought we’d lost you,” Katherine said shakily.

He turned to look at the rest of the group, all of whom looked rattled and most of whom also looked injured. “Any sign of Jaina? Visions this awful place might be showing her?,” he asked, but he was sure he knew the answer. Still, the look on Katherine’s face was still gutting when everyone shook their heads.

“I..I saw her in the forest,” she said. “But she was much younger. I don’t think it was quite real”

Silence on the beach. No one dared voice the suspicion they all had, that if she wasn’t there, they had been too late

A gnome nursing a bandaged hand cleared his throat. “Did anyone see anything that wasn’t a variation of something real that happened to them in the past?

The party eyed each other.

“Alright, then,” the gnome continued. “Pike said Thros feeds off of pain, right? But it looks like it can’t show anyone anything that hasn’t happened.”

Genn frowned, unsure of where this was going. “And? Get on with it.”

“I’m saying that if Jaina was here and she died, that would be a huge source of pain for most of us. But no one saw any visions of her blaming us for her death, or anything of the sort. And if she was here and she lived, we would have seen visions taunting us about that. But no one saw anything like either. Which means the only logical conclusion is that-”

Katharine looked bewildered. “She was never here.”

“I don’t understand,” Genn rumbled. “The trail we followed was complicated, but it only led here for certain. Ashvane, pirates, Tidesages, Thros. If she’s not here, where could she have gone?”

The silence that overtook them then, injured and alone on the beach, no closer to finding Jaina, was absolute.

* * *

Three days earlier

Dark rangers didn’t necessarily get tired in the same sense that the living did, but Alina was definitely bored out of her mind, and  _ exceedingly  _ sick of her present company. Initially, she was fine with getting assigned to cover the goblins’ mining mission to Drustvar, because it got her out of two weeks of target practice with Nathanos. However, even missing out on weeks worth of snide comments and insistinces that he was the better shot (he wasn’t Alina definitely was), wasn’t even proving to be a silver lining. The goblins, plus the handful of champions that had come with, were absolutely insufferable. Every rustle in the bushes was a witch, every malfunctioning piece of tech was a disaster, and every ship on the horizon were pirates to them. She was tired of wasting arrows on nothing. She wasn’t even really needed on the expedition, but Anya had said something about their presence being more of a reminder that the Dark Lady was watching at all times than anything else. Well, if the warchief was watching these buffoons at all times, Alina had thought, surely she would have done the horde a favor and killed them by now. 

At least they were on their way back to Zuldazar. The mining had been hectic and unproductive, and the foreman had helpfully told her the main conclusion of their expedition was that the area had ‘good ore, but someone else should get it’. At present, they had over a full day’s journey left, and Alina was belowdecks, refletching perfectly fine arrows, hoping to kill a few hours. Almost immediately, however, she was interrupted by the sound of the captain ringing the alarm bell. She flicked her ears back in annoyance- it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. The captain (fizzle...something? Alina didn’t remember) would practically sound the alarm for her own shadow. Still, as the official escort , it would be bad form not to follow up. Groaning, she grabbed her bow and headed to the top deck. 

She was floored. As she arrived on the top deck, the bell could barely be heard over the scuffle on the top deck. Something was  _ actually  _ happening. 

“Everyone! To arms! It’s PIRATES!” Fizzle shouted over the din, pointing at a blip in the distance. 

Alina rolled her eyes and grabbed the spyglass out of her hand. The ship advancing on them was a good deal bigger than theirs, but seemed to be about as fast. It was definitely gaining. As it got closer, the elf could see no flags hanging from its mast, and a haggard looking crew scuttling around on deck. Not mercantile then, and definitely not Alliance or Horde. 

“To arms, everyone, but hold!” she repeated. “It’s actually pirates!”

At that, the sense of alarm in the crew doubled. In the confusion, Alina watched an orc and goblin duo accidentally knock a full barrel of gunpowder overboard. Wonderful. As the ship got closer, however, Alina noticed something that gave her pause. 

They weren’t engaging. In fact, the haggard crew that definitely should have been at gun stations, ready to fire, looked very much preoccupied with just going faster. What kind of pirates didn’t want to engage, especially with such an incompetent crew on the other ship? Still, it made her job easier.

“Hold!” she called to the crew as the ship started to pass by. “Do not eng-”

“Let’s show them the might of Bilgewater engineering!” a deckman shouts over her, and before she can react, tosses a homemade grenade over onto the deck of the other ship. 

For a second, all was silent, and Alina found herself hoping it was a dud. No sooner had that crossed her mind than it exploded, the shrapnel blowing a hole right in the middle of the deck and taking out a good chunk of the crew that had gathered on the rigging. Looks like they were going to have a proper fight, after all. 

As the smoldering hole in the deck got bigger, the pirates seemed to realize their best bet would be stealing the horde ship. Alina picked them off lazily with her bow as they started to board. Unfortunately, because she was doing most of the work on their side of the fight, it wasn’t enough. Ears pinned back, she dove down to the lower part of the deck and pulled her sword. The only other two members of the crew she would describe as competent, a nightborne mage and an orc death knight with a gigantic axe, had thrown themselves into the fray as well. 

It definitely wasn’t a fair battle. Alina realized just how tired and unprepared the other crew looked as she whirled around the deck, taking people out at the knees indiscriminately. There were also less of them than she would have expected, even with the grenade. She swept the legs of a bedraggled human woman, kicking her overboard for good measure. As she watched her fall into the sea below, she heard the battle surrounding her quiet. Was that really the last one? 

Oddly enough, she thought as she looked around to take stock, it was. As the crew eventually calmed down, she cleaned the blood off her sword and sheathed it. 

“How many did you take?” she asked, looking to the two champions.

“I had four”, said the mage.

The death knight looked smug. “Five.” Like a lot of undead Alina knew, she didn’t talk a lot.

Alina frowned. She had taken seven out, and assuming the crew was competent enough to get at least one pirate, and even factoring in the grenade, there couldn’t have been more than twenty of them, all on a ship that could easily take a crew of fifty. Something was off.

She turned to the captain, who was thankfully still at her post. “How many casualties did we sustain, Fizzle?”

The goblin wrinkled her nose. “My name is Ixlie. One of my guys caught a knife in the shoulder, someone else got tossed overboard but climbed back on. Oh, and one of the cannons misfired below. Might need to put that out. Other than that though, no one.”

Alina nodded. “Fine then, Ixlie. You’ve been on the sea a while, have you not?”

“Four years with the Horde navy next month, actually.”

“For what reason would there be a pirate crew, exhausted and unprepared as they are, try and blast past what looked like a small ship like the one we’re on without even considering taking them?”

“Maybe they didn’t think they could take us, like they had just gotten in a bad scrape already?” the captain frowned. “They went down easily enough.”

Alina worked best when she could think out loud, something that annoyed a lot of her fellow rangers. “We’re in the middle of the Drustvar Sound. I doubt there’s enough boat traffic for them to be looking for a fight. Which means they’d have to be transporting something, or it’s a trap, but the state of the crew looked they were in some terrible hurry.”

“Well, what typa cargo would provoke a crew to leave half of their own behind at the last minute in the wrong ship?”

Alina smiled, red eyes flashing. “What indeed, captain.”

The mage stepped closer. “If you do not require assistance in your current course of investigation, I think it would be best for me to address the cannon fire belowdecks.”

“By all means, Champion,” Alina nodded curtly at the death knight. “If you wouldn’t mind, however…”

Room by room, the two of them swept the ship, taking as much care as they could to avoid the burnt bits.

Halfway through the second level, the death knight turned to her abruptly. “There’s no liquor.”

“Wait, can you get drunk? We can’t.”

“Not what I meant. This is a pirate ship. And there’s no alcohol on it.” The orc raised her eyebrows and waited. 

“Oh.” Alina felt a small twinge of worry at that. She had a point, the lack of booze on a pirate ship was incredibly suspicious. As they swept the rest of the ship, she hoped the two of them would be able to fight their way out if this turned out to be a trap. But there was nothing on the rest of the boat, save for a few hammocks slung belowdecks in odd places. As they clambered back up, the dark ranger took a deep breath and collected herself, attempting to use whatever was left of her living senses. 

She couldn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary, that was the problem. Still, the feeling that something was odd remained, more than just her own suspicion. Across the way, she saw tiny jets of frost coming out from one of the cannon ports, and that’s when it hit her. 

It wasn’t what she could sense, but what she suddenly couldn’t. Even in undeath, she was still and elf, and could feel magic in a way that other races couldn’t, like a slight buzzing between her ears. She should be able to sense the nightborne woman putting the fire out, at least a little, but there was nothing. A nothing that seemed to be coming stronger from one direction. Eyes wide, she grabbed the death knight by the wrist and followed it down to the bottom of the ship. 

Resting her hand flat out against a wall, she felt strange. That magic-less hole in her senses definitely originated somewhere close to here, and the odd silence was like standing in the middle of a snowstorm.

“Can you use that axe to take this wall down?” Alina asked, gesturing vaguely at the death knight without taking her hand off the wall.

The orc’s brow furrowed. “This is an external wall.”

Alina curled her hand into a fist and brought it down. Hollow, by the sound of it.

She only had a split second to move her fist out of the way before the axe came crashing through. Like she’d expected, it was a hidden compartment of sorts, and as the champion hit it a couple more times, what was supposed to have been the door swung open. No time for that now. Alina had to wait a second for the debris to clear, but when she saw exactly what was on the floor, her blood ran cold. 

“Oh,  _ belore _ ,” she whispered. She clapped a hand on the death knight’s shoulder. “Get an anti-magic shell up in here for the time being. Keep this quiet.” 

Alina scrambled back over to the other ship, finding the mage still working on the cannon.

“Out, all of you!,” she had to fight back the urge to scream as the crew took their sweet time exiting the room. “I need a portal to Orgrimmar, right now,” she said to the mage.

The nightborne frowned. “I don’t know if I have enough mana to-”

“Right now!” she yelled, squeezing the mage’s shoulder harder than she intended. Still, it had the desired effect. She jumped through the portal and sprinted straight to the throne room. Nathanos was posted by the door, leaning on the wall lazily.

“Alina,” he drawled. “You’re definitely still supposed to be on that boat.”

“I don’t have time for this, Nathanos, it’s important,” she huffed, shoving past him. He could have stopped her, but it looked like sheer surprise kept him out of her way. In the throne room, she found the Dark Lady casually sitting by the throne, talking to Anya. 

“Warchief!” she said, dropping to a knee and sliding forward a little with the momentum. “I believe you’re going to like the sound of this.”


	2. Shipshape

Above all things, Jaina was tired. She’d had a plan when she traveled to Kul Tiras, hoping to bring them back into the alliance. She knew that her chances of returning from her homeland were low. She sailed to Boralus all the same. Jaina had held her head high, braved the shouted insults in the streets, looked her mother in the eye as she sentenced her to death. If that was the price to mend the relationship between Kul Tiras and the Alliance, to make things right, she was willing to pay it, she’d thought. She was going to leave this world with dignity. 

But after a couple weeks in captivity, she was just ready for it to end. 

For most of her life, magic had been a tool at Jaina’s disposal. The mana bomb had made it a part of her, holding her together as much as anything. She’d seen the flashing purple runes lining the walls of her cell, knowing what they meant. Firstly, that they weren’t keeping her in Tol Dagor, which didn’t have any magic-reduction capacity, and secondly, that they were treating her like a weapon. Rightly so, she thought. Her father had once called her magic a gift. She had seen too many of her loved ones dead, too many cities burned because of it to believe that. Still, without it, her senses were growing duller. More worryingly, she was losing time. Without any sunlight to orient herself, in and out of consciousness, the days started to run together. 

And that was before she’d woken up on the boat. 

Why was she on a ship? She was being taken off the grid, but everything was far too fuzzy for her to figure out why. The pirates that were currently keeping her didn’t have the sophisticated containment system the prison had. No, their method of keeping Jaina from casting was a pair of rusty suppression cuffs and periodically kicking the shit out of her. She was too weak to really think, let alone cast, but something was starting to feel  _ wrong _ . She was drawing mana out of the air, what had slipped through the cracks, but there was nowhere for it to go. It would shoot down her spine and through her limbs, blindingly excruciating. Ironically, she thought there were decent odds that might kill her before Kul Tiran justice had the chance. 

  
  


Jaina looked around her dismal wooden room, blinking. How long had it been? She heard some vague scuffling from above her, some shouting, maybe. There was a feeling all around her like taking a deep breath, and she looked down to see tiny purple sparks arcing off her fingertips. Jaina blinked again. She couldn’t see anymore. The mana burned through her again, like lightning trying to strike out of her core, and the scream she felt herself let out was louder than any of the action topside. 

* * *

  
  


Sylvanas Windrunner was not having a very good day. The campaign in Zandalar was proving to be exhausting, even if it was finally starting to look up. They might convince the Zandalari to join the horde yet, but it was looking like it would be at the cost of a quarter of their own troops and about half their navy. No one had been able to find that blasted traitor Saurfang, either, and it would be near-impossible to win this war with him turning half her forces against her. She was already impatient when Anya began her brief about troop movements in Nazmir, and that annoyance surged when Alina burst in early, uninvited and unannounced. What good was posting Nathanos by the door if he was just going to  _ let people in whenever they- _

“My lady, we’ve found Jaina Proudmoore.”

That was a surprise. She’d put too much effort into getting a decent spy network in Zuldazar set up over the past few weeks that she hadn’t gotten any decent news out of Boralus. All Sylvanas, or anyone hordeside really knew was that no one had seen her since the Alliance had sailed for Kul Tiras. The archmage seemed to have picked up a habit of vanishing and reappearing whenever Sylvanas found it the most inconvenient. “She usually makes herself found, after a fashion. What did she do, eviscerate your ship?”

“You misunderstand me, warchief. I found her unconscious in the brig of a pirate ship.”

Sylvanas blinked. “You  _ what _ ?” That was genuinely surprising. The woman who was almost singlehandedly winning every Alliance victory, thwarting her at every turn, what, captured by pirates? It seemed too good to be true. She could deal with the implications of that later. Clearly, they needed to act. Unless, of course…

She looked down at Alina. “Did you kill her?”

The ranger stood up. “No. First thing I did was come to you, my lady.”

“Excellent.” That would have been a terrible waste of an opportunity. She walked over to the side of the throne room and took her bow from its rack. “Well?”

Alina turned to leave, Sylvanas following. “I don’t know how much time we have before the portal gives out, but we do have a window.”

The warchief grinned. “Let’s use it, then.” Oh, today could prove to be  _ interesting  _ after all. 

* * *

Sylvanas stepped through the shaky portal, silently jolting at the rocking under her feet and the sudden dank smell of the underbelly of a ship.

The frail-looking nightborne mage who had created it dropped to a knee “Warchief! We… weren’t expecting you.”

Sylvanas nodded as Alina pushed a mana potion into the mage’s hand. “Champion. This ship and its crew, excluding yourself, is to keep sailing as usual. See them off and meet us on the other ship.” 

She strode out into the sun, Alina and the mage in tow, and over onto the other deck. Half of it was overtaken by a giant, still-smoldering hole. Reaching for her bow, she looked at Alina. “That better not be her.”

Her youngest ranger’s ears flicked back, annoyed. “No, that was an ill-functioning goblin grenade. Thrown against my orders.”

“Ah.” Sylvanas slung her bow back on her shoulder and followed Alina belowdecks. The ship was practically empty, and the wood under her feet didn’t so much as creak under her boots. Clearly, it was new and hastily crewed. 

Alina gestured to what was formerly a wall and currently a hacked-up pile of planks. “She’s in there.”

She nodded, silently glad that Alina had been the one to find her. Nathanos would have just shot her on sight. That man was magnificently loyal, but with certain affairs, he simply lacked vision. 

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow at the bright green bubble that permeated the room. An anti-magic field. “I can see that,” she said dryly. 

Stepping into the bubble, she felt her ears pop. There was still a slight pressure there, a hint of magic thrumming in her bones. That shouldn’t be possible given what she knew about anti-magic spells, but unsurprising given who was in it. 

The woman on the floor was a far cry from the arrogant archmage she was familiar with. She was gaunt and covered in bruises, enough that Sylvanas reasoned she must have been living like this the entire time she wasn’t accounted for. Honestly, she was surprised Alina managed to recognize her- if it wasn’t for the bright white hair, Sylvanas herself might have given pause. The Jaina Proudmoore she knew could level a city, might be the only person Sylvanas thought had a chance of beating her in single combat. The woman on the floor looked thoroughly broken. 

Alina stepped into the room. “What do you want us to do with her, my lady?” 

Sylvanas paused, silently glad that Alina had been the one to find her. Nathanos would have just shot her on sight. That man was magnificently loyal, but with certain affairs, he simply lacked vision. “Orgrimmar, for now. This needs to be handled delicately.”

The mage cleared her throat. “Something’s not quite right.”

On that, the warchief had to agree. The circumstances in which the most powerful mage in the world would end up bloodied on the deck of a pirate ship in her own nation were...odd. Still, she turned to the nightborne. “Elaborate,” she paused, unable to recall her name. 

“My name is Arleaux. Warchief, you’re an elf. Can’t you feel it? The pressure in this room..” She paused, mouthing out calculations. “If I had to guess, that’s mana being drawn in without any possible outlet, given those chains seem to be suppressive in nature, and the effects of a mana bomb could have made processing a bit different, but I-”

Alina clapped a hand on the mage’s shoulder. “What are you trying to say?”

“If we can’t find a way to vent some of the mana, there’s a nonzero chance taking her through a portal causes some kind of an explosion.”

“ _ Belore,  _ lead with that next time. She’s no use to us dead if she doesn’t have a body.”

The nightborne paled. “You intend on…”

Sylvanas rankled, feeling a surge of annoyance at Alina for so casually throwing _that _particular implication out. She was well aware of their new allies’ discomfort with the undead. “I am not _intending_ on doing anything at the moment, except moving her to Orgrimmar.” That wasn’t entirely a falsehood. As delicious as it would be to raise Proudmoore, turn her on the alliance and watch her burn continents to the ground, she only had one val’kyr left. Who to use it for was a delicate matter, and she had to proceed with caution. 

Taking a breath, Arleaux nodded. “This could get tricky. I believe our best bet would be just for me to pop the cuffs and act as a conduit to channel it out. The theory of it isn’t terribly difficult..”

“Are you sure you can handle that?” Alina raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes. It would be like if fluid got stuck in your lungs, it doesn’t take a lot to cause a problem. Removing it is the priority.” She looked around, realizing her present company. “I apologize, I didn’t mean it like that-”

Sylvanas’ eyes flashed, growing impatient. “Just get on with it.”

She knelt, holding Proudmoore’s wrist in one hand, placing the other flat against the wall, just outside the green bubble. “She might wake up. Be ready.” 

Sylvanas nodded, drawing her bow. A tiny spark flashed over the nightborne’s fingers, just enough to break a single link in the chain keeping the human’s wrists together. 

The nightborne’s eyes glowed a brighter purple for a split second. “Oh,” she exhaled in surprise. A giant, crackling purple fireball exploded out of her other hand, blowing the external wall and shooting out across the sea. For a moment, the three of them stood there, eyeing each other. 

Alina smiled. “I believe that was the worst of it, the-”

Jaina Proudmoore bolted upright with a gasp. Her eyes darted around the room, wild, and Sylvanas could hear her heart start to thump louder in her chest. The mix of confusion and fear on the archmage’s face reminded her of the lynxes she used to trap, once they realized they had been caught.

“Well, this isn’t terribly convenient for any of us,” Sylvanas drawled. Jaina whirled around, and the sight of the warchief looking down at her, arrow pointed at her heart, finally seemed to stir some recognition in her stormy gray eyes. 

“I...what?” Jaina rasped. Sylvanas tilted her head slightly. Clearly, Proudmoore hadn’t quite oriented herself yet, and she wanted to avoid an ordeal on this boat.

She flicked her eyes over to Arleaux, reaching out with her thoughts, communicating.  _ Put her back down. It will draw less attention when we move her. _ She jolted, unfamiliar with how Sylvanas could communicate, but nodded. Lightning-fast, Arleaux shot a hand out, pressing a thumb to Jaina’s forehead. Her eyes fluttered shut, and the nightborne mended the broken chain link, resealing it. 

“Can you open up another portal to Orgrimmar, champion?” Sylvanas asked. “Grommash Hold, specifically.”

Arleaux nodded. “Of course, Warchief.”

“Tell your Grand Arcanist she’s requested there as well. Don’t speak of this to anyone.” 

Alina turned to Sylvanas. “My lady, are we just going to leave the ship to drift?”

“Excellent point, ranger. Champion, see that you burn it.” Sylvanas couldn’t afford any loose ends, not when she’d been dealt such a  _ spectacular  _ hand. Alina hoisted the mage up and over her shoulder, surprisingly strong for her size, and led through the portal. Sylvanas gave Arleaux a curt nod before stepping through herself. As it closed, she saw little flakes of ash just barely drift through. Her eyes glowed brighter than that flash of the burning ship, and she smiled triumphantly. 

With Jaina Proudmoore in Orgrimmar, she was going to win this war. One way or another.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, it's been a while. This was gonna be all one chapter, but decided to split it so y'all can get Thalyssra and the terrible horrible no good very bad day rn.

Thalyssra was not having a very good day. For a brief moment, she had been relieved to get the urgent summons from the warchief- she was supposed to go to Nazmir, and she figured that almost anything beat wading through the swamp trying to fend off the blood trolls. As soon as she’d arrived in Orgrimmar and been led through a maze of tunnels she hadn’t even known existed, she changed her mind. 

The nightborne had been a part of the Horde for three months now. Thalyssra had never been in a room alone with the Warchief before, and it made her uneasy. The cave they were in was dimly lit, and she could see Sylvanas’ eyes glowing as she lazily turned to meet her. 

“Aran’arcana, Warchief,” she started, pressing a fist to her chest in the traditional salute. 

“Spare me the formalities if you will, First Arcanist.” Sylvanas looked almost bored, but there was an edge to her voice Thalyssra didn’t much like. “Nothing I am about to tell you leaves this room.”

“Of course.”

“First Arcanist, how good are you at anti-magic wards? We have a...special circumstance.” she flicked her eyes to the floor, and with a lurch Thalyssra realized they weren’t alone in the room after all. 

She certainly looked worse for wear than when they had met last, when Thalyssra had spent an evening dodging ice lances and inadvertently almost burning down Stormwind, but Jaina Proudmoore was hard to forget. Fighting her had been a humbling experience for the elf, but seeing her slumped on the floor, shaking slightly, all she could feel was a strange sense of pity mixed with alarm.

“Warchief, what? How did you-”

She smiled, showing off her tiny quel’dorei fangs. “Is that going to help you with the wards, First Arcanist?”

“It will be complicated.” It would be. Figuring out how to align everything so that she couldn’t get out, which would be hard because she was so powerful, while making sure it didn’t take too much mana to hurt her or trap it in was going to be challenging. Actually, there was a rune pattern she’d used back during her court days in Suramar that might-

Thalyssra’s conscience caught up to her intellect, realizing what she was justifying. Judging by the smirk on the Warchief’s face, just  _ daring  _ her to say anything, this was as much of a loyalty test for her as much as it was a test of her skill. 

Sylvanas nodded. “That’s why you’re here. Work fast, First Arcanist.”

So she did. She tried her hardest to lose herself in the intricate work, weaving mana just so until the walls of the room glimmered. She could still feel those red eyes on her back as she worked, unnaturally still. At least she could take comfort in the fact that she could trust her own work to hold, that if she’d refused she couldn’t control the damage someone else would do.

It had been at least a couple hours of work when Nathanos, the Warchief’s ever-present tail, barged in, not even bothering to knock. Thalyssra tried her best to keep an open mind with everyone in the horde, but something about him reminded her just a little too much of Elisande’s sycophants. He strode casually across the room, seemingly careless of her work, and Thalyssra realized a second before it happened.

“N’eth ana!” She yelled, slinging a spell over as fast as she could. In an instant, the warchief pulled her bow and was pointing an arrow at Thalyssra’s heart. Nathanos was frozen in time, foot directly over the exposed leyline that would have fried him on contact. 

“My apologies, Warchief,” the mage said, calm as she could. “I was not expecting the interruption and that particular leyline is volatile until I close the circle. I assume you would prefer him like this and not a pile of dream dust.” 

Sylvanas lowered her bow. “You would be correct, First Arcanist. Do be more careful next time, champion.”

Looking incredibly disgruntled, the now-unfrozen Nathanos walked over and handed the warchief a small scroll. “All I could get out of Boralus at such notice, my queen.”

She took it without a word, putting it in a pouch on her belt. 

  
  


He looked down, finally noticing Jaina on the floor. “Ah,” he said, seemingly entirely surprised but trying desperately to pretend he was not. Thalyssra smiled grimly at the fact that he too was out of whatever loop this scheme had taken place in. “My queen,” he continued, still looking at Jaina. “Would you like me to discuss potential...solutions with the apothecaries?”

Stars, that man was not nearly so subtle as he thought he was. Still the warchief tilted her head, seeming to consider the horrifying implication. Thalyssra tried her best to tamp down on her dread and finish the wards. 

“It’s always rather tempting, isn’t it? What say you, First Arcanist?”

Thalyssra froze. She would rather be neck-deep in swamp water and troll blood than anywhere near the vicinity of this conversation. Trying to choose her words carefully, she stood up to her full height. “We don’t execute prisoners in Suramar.”

Sylvanas flicked her ears back, annoyed.“Only because you made a habit of not taking any. With the aid of the Horde, I might add.”

“Warchief, that was-”

“It was war? Look around you, First Arcanist, and tell me, what else would you call this?”

Slaughter. Brutal, merciless slaughter without end that threatened to drag every last citizen of Azeroth down into the endless dark. It was an open invitation for sedition, and looking into the warchief’s unblinking red eyes, Thalyssra was tempted to take it then and there. The First Arcanist that had served under Elisande would not have hesitated, but years of planning in the shadows had forced her notorious temper down. She had worked tirelessly to earn her people safe harbor with the Horde, and now was not the time to jeopardize that. She hid her fangs and looked away.

“I thought as much. These are trying times, and I find my patience waning with them. The Shal’Dorei bring ancient magic to our fold, but I am not naive enough to overlook your gift for statecraft, First Arcanist.” The warchief put her hands behind her back, their height difference seemingly bothering her not at all. “I am not overly fond of repeating myself, but I’ll ask you again. What should we do with Proudmoore?”

Thalyssra dug her fingernails into her palms.  _ Play the game.  _ “Killing and raising her would grant you a highly destructive weapon,” she started, ears pinned back in disgust at the words coming out of her own mouth. “But I imagine someone with that much magical power would be incredibly difficult to control without...extensive effort, especially given the fact that she will almost definitely be hostile. She’s very stubborn.”

“Oh, we have our ways,” Nathanos interjected. 

Thalyssra tried her hardest not blanch, swallowed the bile in her throat, and continued. “You would also lose the leverage you would have with the Alliance with her as a hostage.You will not tell me the circumstances of her capture-”

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow.

“And I do not need to know them,” she added quickly. “But the fact that I was summoned here so urgently leads me to believe this was a rather unexpected situation. If you kill her now, you pass up the chance to see this situation play out further. I think that would be a waste.”

Nathanos frowned. “If we raise her, she’d most likely be powerful enough to destroy Stormwind on her own.”

“Or Orgrimmar. This situation needs to be handled more delicately.” Sylvanas turned to Thalyssra, expression unreadable. “You may go when you’re finished, First Arcanist. Thank you for your discretion.”

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding as the two left the room. Not too long later, she was almost done, just a few tweaks and everything would be-

“Thalyssra?”

Her blood turned to ice. She finished the wards as fast as she could, feeling her ears pop when it took effect. 

“Thalyssra, this is Orgrimmar. Why am I in Orgrimmar?” Proudmoore’s voice was weak, and the confusion and panic there was hard to ignore. She had a look in her eyes the Arcanist had seen many times in the withered, wild and scared and with very little to lose. 

“I... I cannot say, Lady Proudmoore.” 

“Coward.” Even with the wards, without any of her magic, Thalyssra could  _ feel _ the anger coming off of her in waves. 

“Ru-shanna shal’dorei, Archmage,” she said bitterly.  _ The nightborne will survive.  _ “We do what we must. I’ll tell them you’re awake.” She turned to leave, regret blooming in her chest.

“Thalyssra,” the human whispered roughly, almost inaudible. “Thalyssra, when they kill me, burn my body.”

The elf didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She could feel those stormy eyes on her as she left, all the way through to the surface. She was sure she’d feel those eyes back to Suramar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its midterm szn for me so im gonna have to do the best I can w updates. thank you so much for the comments even though I haven't updated since like august :,)


	4. Chapter 4

This was not the deal Jaina had made. Genn had encouraged her to sail home, saying as the reason Kul Tiras had left the Alliance, it was her responsibility to bring them back. They both knew how her people held to her grudges, what returning to Boralus would mean. Still, Jaina had agreed. She had betrayed them. And for what? The peace she’d decided was more important than her family, than her nation was was a mana-drenched crater in the ground. It was a way to pay her debt- they were going to kill her and her people would have their vengeance and the Alliance would have their ships. She wouldn’t have to be guilty anymore, and that alone was enough for her to go quietly when the guards came for her in the square.

What else was there left for her to do?

She had been in and out for a while, the cruelty from the guards and mana-induced blackouts making it hard to determine how much time had passed. A couple weeks? She’d started to see things. Rhonin calling her a traitor, demanding to know how she could have let Theramore burn. Her mother, telling her she was nothing and sentencing her to die over and over and over again. Her father, dredged up rotting from the sea and singing their old song through the garbled ruins of his jaw. Arthas.

Once, she’d jolted awake to see Sylvanas Windrunner pointing an arrow at her, red eyes alight. She’d passed out again rather quickly, and absently wondered where  _ that  _ had come from out of her head.

It was dark when she’d come to again, slowly. She was still tired and sore, but the mana that was trying to burn a hole in her skull didn’t  _ hurt _ anymore and the stone was so cool under her skin, she could almost-

Her eyes snapped open. Hadn’t she been on a boat? She wasn’t anymore- as she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness, it took every ounce of self-control she had not to bolt. Not that it would have done much good. She was sitting in the middle of a circle drawn in glowing purple leylines, leading out in a spiral to where they were still being drawn by-

“Thalyssra?” Jaina’s stomach dropped. She was alone with the First Arcanist of Suramar, an incredibly powerful mage. A  _ Horde  _ mage. All at once, she felt her senses dull slightly, like there was wax in her ears, and the little mana she had shot out of her fingers and dulled. The leylines flared to life on the red stone floor. 

Unconsciously, she felt her breathing speed up, felt her heart start pounding in her chest. She was supposed to  _ die,  _ atone for everything and rest, finally, but instead, she was alone with a Horde mage with no magic in a cave she hadn’t seen since the  _ trial- _

“Thalyssra, This is Orgrimmar. Why am I in Orgrimmar?”

  
  


“I..I cannot say, Lady Proudmoore.” One look at the elf’s face, the guilt and the pity roiling there, and Jaina knew. All of her panic crystalized into rage in an instant, the kind that would normally have mana pooling in her belly and fire coming out of her eyes. She didn’t have any of that left to her, so she settled for calling her a coward in the voice that her father had once joked could raise the dead, low and icy. 

Thalyssra said something in Shalassian then, fluid and strange, but Jaina didn’t really care. She had spent weeks waiting to die, wanting it, even. It would not bring her peace, not now that it would come at the hands of the Horde. She could almost feel her blood boiling- after everything, she was going to have to claw her way out of this one, too, or risk-

Well. Having nightmares about being undead wasn’t new. Cool skin and white hair and the feeling after Theramore, of only being held together by the same energy that wanted nothing more than to destroy everything in its path. In some she was a puppet, screaming inside while she killed her loved ones and burned cities to the ground, Arthas’ laughter echoing in her ears. In the worst ones, she killed him and took Frostmourne for herself, threw her head back and  _ laughed  _ as she completely and utterly eviscerated anything that stood in her way. She would wake up unable to breathe, thoughts still lingering on the blade and the power she knew she would have if only she would stop holding back. 

Considering the alternative, Jaina Proudmoore wanted to stay alive at all costs. When was the last time she had gotten what she’d wanted? That was something she used to say, back in her tower, back when she thought the worst was over.  _ All I ever wanted was to study.  _ She was a child then, someone who thought being able to take on the world meant she could bear its weight on her shoulders. She was a child then, but what would she be tomorrow? Sylvanas was relentless and Jaina was trapped in her path. Most likely, she would be dead, then. 

Thalyssra looked like she was about to say something else, but she turned on her heel to leave.

“Thalyssra,” she whispered, feeling her voice break in her throat. “Thalyssra, when they kill me, burn my body.” 

Jaina didn’t want to be the bomb this time. 

She waited a long time after the elf left before she did anything. Slowly, she got up, tried to stretch, take inventory of the bruises on her ribs and the gash on her temple. She wanted to repay every wound in kind, someday. It was a nice idea. Still, being up that long was starting to make her dizzy, and she tried to blink the stars out of her eyes as she gingerly lay back down.

Jaina looked up at the ceiling, at the tiny arcane constellations Thalyssra had left to move across it for no reason at all. Kindness? They used to sing to the sheep in Kul Tiras so they wouldn’t see the knife coming. At least she had a way to tell time now. Judging by the movement of the Admiral’s Anchor across the cavern, she had been watching it for forty-seven minutes. 

The Warchief had been there for at least fifteen of them. She was clearly waiting for Jaina to acknowledge her presence, maybe cower in the corner or something. She wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction, and it wasn’t like she had any shortage of time, so Jaina did her best to ignore the increasing glower at her back. 

Sylvanas broke first. “Proudmoore.”

There was a song her mother had taught her about the Anchor, something about it being chased by a lonely sailor who wanted nothing more than to go-

“Jaina.” Her voice was cold, commanding. Jaina didn't like the way it bounced off the room, coming back to hit her at every angle. What was it the sailor wanted to do? He wanted to go home, but-

“Daughter of the sea.” That name still ripped through her like a knife, and hearing it in the Warchief’s unnatural voice was enough to make her whirl around. 

Sylvanas smirked. Fuck, she knew that worked now. She was still wearing full armor, but her hood was down, and her silvery-blonde hair glowed in the torchlight. “Good. You can hear, after all. I feared the worst.”

“How do you know that name”

“It’s a lovely song, carried across the sea. It’s become quite popular in Boralus as of late.”

Jaina clenched her teeth. Of course it had. “I had a champion tell me she’s heard you sing, once.”

Almost imperceptibly, Jaina watched Sylvanas tighten her grip on her bow. “When I was alive, I partook in many frivolities. The living are often foolish.”

“This was after.” It was one of the new ren’dorei who had said something about finding a necklace in the ruins of the Windrunner estate and returning it. She’d said Sylvanas had taken it without a word, a rarity for her, and then started to sing, high and ghostly, the sin’dorei ballad about the fall of Silvermoon.Genn had called her a liar, but Alleria had gasped and left for three days after hearing of it. Jaina had wondered- it made the Banshee Queen seem more...human than she had ever known her to be.

Sylvanas’ eyes flashed a bright, dangerous red. “I have  _ no  _ interest in hearing the lies those void-addled  _ traitors  _ have told you, Proudmoore.” A note of magical power bled into her voice, the barest hint of a banshee wail.

It was definitely true, then. 

Sylvanas rolled her shoulders, stepping closer. A shiver ran up Jaina’s spine- there was no physical or magical barrier between them, now. “I have no time for games. Do tell, why did we find the world’s most powerful mage unconscious belowdecks on a filthy pirate ship?”

“I’m afraid I don’t recall.” It wasn’t a lie, waking up on the ship had been a surprise. “I’ve been away for quite some time. The intricacies of Kul Tiran justice must be lost to me.”

Sylvanas tilted her head, feigning curiosity. “Justice for what, exactly, sweet daughter of the sea?”

“You know the song.”

“What of it?”

“You really need to make me say it?”

Sylvanas didn’t respond, but that smirk was still twisting on her lips.

“I killed my father. High treason is punishable by death in Kul Tiras.” It came out low and guttural, and Jaina prayed to everything out there that the tears pricking the corners of her eyes would go unnoticed. 

The Warchief flicked her ears back, annoyed. “Yes, I know that, but why were you there if you knew that would happen?”

Jaina laughed mirthlessly. “Honor, Warchief. There are some crimes that you cannot avoid forever. Kul Tiras left the Alliance because of me, and I am more than willing to pay the price if it brings them back.”

She narrowed her eyes. “The Alliance sent their most powerful mage to a place where she would most likely die with no extraction plan for a diplomatic gamble they had no guarantee would work for a fleet that is equal or lesser in power than what they’re sacrificing.”

Jaina huffed. “That-”

“That is a plan concocted by a nineteen year-old and a dog. But still, I have trouble believing a single retinue of soldiers would be capable of imprisoning you. Unless,” she paused, pressing a gauntleted hand to her chest in a mockery of surprise, “Lady Proudmoore, if you wanted to die so  _ terribly  _ badly, you should have come to me sooner. I’m sure we could have come to an understanding.”

Jaina absolutely could not dignify that with a response, but the rage she had to claw back down her throat spoke for itself, turning her face a splotchy red. “You said they did it for a plan they had no guarantee would work. It  _ is  _ working, then.” 

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “Clever as always, Proudmoore.” She pulled a scroll out from her belt and gave it a cursory glance. “The dog showed up the day after you did and wasted no time trying to befriend your mother and establish a foothold. There has been no official or unofficial attempt to ask after you, though.” She smiled bitterly, and Jaina could see her fangs glinting. “It appears as if the Alliance has not changed as much as I thought. They ask you to lay down your life for them, but the second you’re no longer useful, they-”

Jaina shot up, anger blocking out the sudden stars in the corner of her vision. “Don’t.”

Instead, she stepped closer, twirling m the last streak of gold in Jaina’s hair around a finger. “Forsaken in every sense but one, aren’t you?”

Tides, fuck it. Jaina swung as hard as she could, hoping her right hook was as decent as it had been during her (very brief) days starting pub fights in Boralus. 

She didn’t have a chance to find out. The banshee caught her wrist effortlessly and held it there, unyielding, an absolutely  _ insufferable  _ look on her face. “Really, now,” she purred, leaning in. 

“You’re very clever, little mage. But when people betray  _ me,  _ I do not give them the chance to do it a second time. You would have done well to have learned that.”

Jaina responded with a rather creative mix of Kul Tiran and Thalassian curses, just to make sure she understood. 

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows, but didn’t engage. She dropped her eyes from Jaina’s to the rest of her, frowning. “When you’re ready to behave, I’ll be back.” She tilted her head. “With a healer and a bath.” She let go of her wrist and turned to leave, pausing at the door.

“Actually, It is  _ asto’re quel-dorah dieb.  _ Not  _ ast’ore quel-danas dieb,  _ unless you hate the island that viciously. Little moon always got it wrong, as well.” She left for good after that, leaving her to silence and the tiny pinpricks of arcane light on the ceiling.

Jaina sunk to the floor. She had a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, I learned that in the French localization, it's "fille de vent salé" instead of "fille de la mer". Weird, because salty wind is not the same as the sea at all, but craignez-elle regardless. Comment a-t-elle osé? 
> 
> anyways, thanks as always for reading and leaving comments. makes me happy :,)


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